


A Very Good Kind of Different

by jooliewrites



Series: Season 2 Coliver Codas [3]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Coda, Domestic Fluff, Episode Related, Episode: s02e03 It's Called the Octopus, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4969738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you need anything?” Oliver asks.</p><p>Connor’s about to shake his head in no when he glances up. Oliver’s got that look in his eye again. That look of devotion and caring and…and love. </p><p>It’s same look he had in his eyes earlier when he’d almost brought Connor to tears in the middle of it all.  And now, just as then, Connor goes breathless at it. Oliver’s looking at him like he’s something, someone, precious and special. Like Connor is worthy and true. </p><p>+</p><p>A Coliver 2x03 Coda</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Good Kind of Different

Lounging back against the pillows, Connor tilts his head to the side and smiles. Oliver’s in the bathroom, disposing of the condom and getting a washcloth, and he’s humming all the while.

Oliver is humming and Connor’s trying not to find it unspeakably endearing.

He walks back in the bedroom carrying a washcloth and Connor reaches for it, automatically. But Oliver ignores Connor’s outstretched hand and takes the cloth to Connor’s stomach himself, wiping away the mess.

The cloth is warm, almost soothing, and Connor relaxes a bit under it. Oliver’s movements are efficient and almost perfunctory but nothing about the gesture feels like simple courtesy. To Connor, it feels like being taken care of.

Task complete, Oliver glances over his shoulder to toss the cloth into the laundry basket before leaning down to kiss Connor’s stomach.

He lazily nibbles and pecks up Connor’s chest, kissing the ribs he can find, detouring to circle a tender nipple with his tongue. Connor tangles a hand with Oliver’s and trails a hand down Oliver’s back, lightly scoring the skin with his nails. Until finally, Oliver capture’s Connor’s lips with his own.

The entire process is effortless and slow. No building pressure or hurried anticipation of what’s to come. Just pleasure, simple, unadulterated pleasure.

Oliver bites on Connor’s lips just to feel Connor’s smile against his own. Connor angles his head and presses up to take the kiss deeper, almost bruising, because he _can_. It’s taking the time to revel in skin against skin and lip against lip as their hears beat as one.

With a final kiss that lingers, Oliver pulls back and rests his arms on Connor’s chest. Settling legs between Connor’s and notching his chin on his forearms, Oliver licks his lips rather deliberately and Connor’s huffs a laugh in response. He absently traces patterns on Oliver’s skin and delights in Oliver’s weight on him. It’s grounding and comforting in a way Connor never expected.

“Do you need anything?” Oliver asks.

Connor’s about to shake his head in no when he glances up. Oliver’s got that look in his eye again. That look of devotion and caring and…and love.

It’s same look he had in his eyes earlier when he’d almost brought Connor to tears in the middle of it all. And now, just as then, Connor goes breathless at it. Oliver’s looking at him like he’s something, _someone_ , precious and special. Like Connor is worthy and true.

“Water,” Connor manages to crook out. He’s not thirsty, not even a bit. He just needs a moment. A moment to process and breathe a little. A moment to steel himself against the heart in Oliver’s eyes.

“Okay.” As he stands, Oliver lets his fingertips trail along Connor’s chest, like he never wants to stop touching Connor.

Once Oliver’s gone, Connor throws his head back against the pillows. He knots a hand in his hair and tugs hard. The pulse of pain centers him quickly, pulling him back from the edge he was just teetering on.

He’s fine. He can handle this. It was just sex.

He shakes his head once and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes

He and Oliver didn’t just have sex. Connor knows what sex is and that… With all the touching and hand holding and, fucking, Eye Contact. That wasn’t sex. That was making love.

Shit.

Sitting up, Connor tucks his feet under the blanket and pulls it up to his waist. He takes a pillow out from behind his back to clutch to his chest and tries to calm the wave of panic.

Just because he’s never _made love_ before doesn’t mean anything. So what if Oliver twined their fingers together while fucking Connor into the best orgasm of his life? It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing has to change faster than he wants it to. He’s fine. It’s all fine.

Oliver returns, glass of water in hand, and pauses in the doorway. Puzzled at Connor sitting at attention while holding a pillow close, Oliver crosses to his side of the bed and hands Connor the water glass. Connor takes a cursory sip, lest Oliver think he was sent away for nothing, and sets the glass on the end table while Oliver slips under the covers.

Oliver reaches over to flick off the light and Connor tries not to feel disappointed. Going to sleep makes sense. They’re both tired. It’s been a long day. He’s got class in the morning and Oliver’s got work and this is really just-

Two cool hands grab Connor’s waist and he’s pulled over into the warm cocoon of Oliver’s embrace. For a breath, Connor’s still, waiting for the the other shoe to drop. Then Oliver slips an arm around his waist and rests his head down against Connor’s shoulder.

Oliver’s settling in for the night and he’s not planning on letting Connor go anytime soon. The wave of relief that pours through Connor would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so welcome.

“Wanna talk about it?” Oliver asks after a few moments of stillness.

“What?” Connor feigns ignorance.

“You are thinking really loud,” is Oliver’s only explanation. Then, “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.”

Abandoning the pillow, Connor turns in Oliver’s hold and brings his hands up between them to sketch delicate designs on Oliver’s chest, near the steady beat of Oliver’s heart. “I’ve never really done this before,” Connor whispers and prays, by some miracle, Oliver understands.

Thankfully, he seems to when he whispers back, “Me neither.”

“Really?” Connor doesn’t believe that for a moment. Oliver has Committed Boyfriend Material practically branded on his forehead.

“Not like this.”

Connor watches his fingers dance along Oliver’s skin the moonlight. “So, this is different?” he ventures.

Oliver pulls Connor in a touch closer. “This is very different.”

“But,” Connor tilts to catch Oliver’s gaze. “It’s, like, good different, right?”

“Yes.” Oliver’s smile is beautiful in the soft light. “This is a very good kind of different.”

Connor smiles backs. “Wonderfully different?” he challenges playfully.

“Amazingly different,” Oliver counters.

“Fantastically different?”

“Brilliantly different.”

Oliver’s horrific fake British accent makes Connor laugh a bit. “Perfectly different?” he offers through a laugh.

“Everything.” Oliver cups Connor’s cheek and they both still. The teasing note of a moment ago gone. “Everything,” Oliver repeats, this time with hallowed reverence. “ _Everything_ different.”

“Everything,” Connor echoes back.

With that, they’re quiet again. Pulling each other in and holding each other close. Connor lets his eyes fall closed and Oliver lets his forehead fall to rest against Connor’s.

They fall asleep just like that and wake the following morning still tangled in each other.

With a few last, lingering touches, they get up to start the day. And Connor tries to ignore the pulse of panic still lingering at the base of his spine.

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/)


End file.
